


That Untitled Winged!Killian Fic

by wyntereyez



Series: Winged Things [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grooming, Neverland, Season 3, Wings, preening, winged!killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 14:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21649249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntereyez/pseuds/wyntereyez
Summary: Part of a series of random ficlets in which everything is the same, but Killian is descended from an ancient race of winged people.  This fic is set in Neverland shortly after "Good Form", in which Emma accidentally stumbles on a moonlight preening session.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: Winged Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560754
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	That Untitled Winged!Killian Fic

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic which will not be named. I've wracked my brain for something, but can't think of anything appropriate. I've asked for suggestions, but none of them feel right. If anyone wants to make suggestions, feel free to do so! It's driving me insane.

The cries of the Lost Boys seemed more anguished that night, worming their way into Emma's dreams and forcing her to relive her worst memories. She fought free of the nightmare memories, coming awake with a loud sniffle and fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

She choked back a sob and swiped a hand over her face, listening all the while for anyone stirring. She didn't want to explain, to share the painful memories with her parents.

But it was silent, save for the mournful cries and the occasional call of an animal.

Emma sat up slowly, knowing sleep would be impossible the rest of the night. Her fingers curled around the butter-soft leather that had been her bed, and her brow furrowed. When had she fallen asleep, anyway, and how had she ended up on Hook's coat?

Speaking of which, where was the pirate?

Emma shook her head; she wasn't going to worry about him. What she was interested in was cleaning her tear-streaked face. They were near the shore of a small lake, she recalled, one that Hook had assured them was safe enough.

She took a moment to fold the elegant coat, then headed through the thinning treeline towards the water's edge.

A loud splash made her freeze, hand inching towards the hilt of her cutlass. She scanned the shoreline for danger, and gasped at the sight before her.

With no trees to obstruct the sky, the moon and stars were in full view. She'd never seen so many of them, and they reflected off the surface of the lake, giving it the appearance of endless space. And framed by the stars, pale skin almost aglow in the moonlight, was Hook.

He'd waded into the water up to his hips. He stood with his back to her, giving her full view of his bare back, rivulets of water running down pale skin, and his outstretched wings.

When Emma had first seen them, after he'd dropped the cloak he'd worn for his blacksmith guise, it was like the world had stopped. There they were, glossy black and huge, furled tightly to his back. He hadn't looked like a pirate, then...more like something ethereal. An angel. A fallen angel, she'd amended when he'd flashed that smirk, an unearthly creature of sin and desire.

Since then, she'd grown accustomed to them. They were simply bundles of feathers, kept tightly closed. They may as well have not existed, for all the attention he paid them.

But now...now they were outspread, resting atop the surface of the lake, the moonlight bringing an iridescence she hadn't previously noticed.

The soft splashes were from Hook splashing a them with water, then combing through them with his fingers.

Preening, she realized. He was preening the feathers. And singing softly under his breath as he did, too low for her to hear the words.

Entranced, Emma stepped forward - and tripped over the pile of clothes Hook had left on the shore. She couldn't hold back a yelp, and Hook whirled around, wings flaring out in reaction.

And Emma realized why he pretended his wings didn't exist, why he'd looked so pained when she'd asked why he didn't just fly up the beanstalk.

His left wing had been cut off at the wrist bone, much as his hand had been.

"Swan?" Hook called, wings slowly lowering. "Is everything all right?"

He took a step forward, hips emerging from the water, and Emma’s response died in her throat.

Hook was very, very naked...

“Are you all right, Love?” Hook asked again.

Emma blinked, dragging her gaze upward, past that dark thatch of hair, up his well-muscled chest (also hairy, she noted absently), to meet his eyes.

“You might want to cover that up,” she blurted out.

“Ah…” In the low light, it was difficult to tell, but she thought his face darkened with a blush. “Sorry, Love.” His intact wing curled around his front, covering his nudity. He continued out of the water, his maimed wing shifting to cover his backside.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your… grooming,” Emma said awkwardly.

“It’s all right. I was nearly finished. If you would just turn around, please, I’ll make meself decent.”

Emma snorted a laugh. “I don’t think there’s enough time for that.” But she obeyed, and she heard him shuffling around, wings rustling with the movement.

“You may turn around any time,” Hook said. He’d pulled on his pants (Emma marveled over his ability to pull leather pants up his wet legs), leaving his shirt and vest folded by a leather pouch.

Droplets of water left glistening trails down his skin, and beaded the thick hair of his chest.

They stared at each other, uncertain. The kiss had created an awkwardness between them that Emma didn’t want to think about. She wanted to focus on saving Henry, not think about how his lips felt on hers, how he’d been rigid with shock because he truly hadn’t expected her to kiss him, how he’d quickly recovered and returned the kiss hungrily.

A one time thing, she reminded herself.

“I just…need to clean up,” Emma said, breaking the tension to crouch at the water’s edge and splash her face.

“Are you all right?” Hook tried again. “You look as though something upset you.”

Emma paused, and a particularly loud wail echoed through the woods. “Just…them. Dredging up old memories. I’m okay now. I’m just not getting any more sleep tonight.”

Hook nodded in understanding, then took a seat next to his clothing. He dug through the pouch, removing a small clay urn and a square of cloth. “If you’d like some company, I’ll be up for a while. I just need to oil my feathers.” He popped open the urn lid and dipped the cloth inside, coating it with a clear fluid. He pulled the maimed wing into his lap, carefully brushing the feathers with oil, then working it in with his nimble fingers.

Emma took a seat across from him. She poked at the pile of jewelry heaped atop his shirt; she recognized his rings and necklace, of course, but there were a few large bangles that were unfamiliar. “Are these for your wings?” she wondered, holding up a piece with a dangling teardrop-shaped ruby.

Hook nodded. “Does that surprise you?”

“That a pirate would bling up his wings? Not really. I just never noticed before, because your keep them closed.”

Hook’s fingers stilled. “I was able to turn my missing hand into a weapon. My hook has made me someone to fear. But this?” His fingers brushed the scarred stump of the wing. “This makes me something to be pitied. A crippled bird who cannot fly. I don’t want pity, Swan. Better that no one sees.” Then he said softly, “Perhaps I should have just removed them entirely, save myself the trouble of maintaining them.”

Emma shivered; Hook was casually talking about mutilating himself. “Why haven’t you, then?”

Hook carefully brushed another coat of oil over a section of feathers while he. “They’re the only thing I have left of my mother.” He said it with a finality that discouraged questioning.

“Was it…was it Gold who did this?”

“Aye…it amused him, I think, to mirror the loss of my hand and my wing. Wing, hand, and heart…he made certain I’d never be whole again.”

They sat in silence for awhile, Emma watching in fascination as Hook meticulously oiled and repaired every feather, until each one was pristine. Given the care he took with his appearance, Emma shouldn’t have been surprised by his perfectionism.

“How often do you do this?” she couldn’t hold back her questions any longer.

“Once a month, if I have the time. They’ve been a little neglected lately.” He patted the last feather on his maimed wing into place, then raised it and fanned it slowly, to shake off the loose droplets.

Emma eyed it wistfully, longing to touch those soft feathers. Hook spread his other wing out before him. “This one takes longer. You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish to,” Hook said.

Emma considered. There was no chance she’d be getting any more sleep, and this was distracting her from the raw emotions caused by her relived memories. Besides…Hook was surprisingly good company. “I’ll stay.”

He twisted the wing so he could get to the feathers on the leading edge. Emma hadn’t realized how enormous they were - nearly as long as she was tall. And tattered, especially at the tips, where they brushed the ground.

“Pan made me an offer, when I was off with your father. Betray you, and he’d give me something I’d desperately wanted for centuries.”

Emma started. Of course Pan would try to turn him; they’d been allies for a long time. “Oh?” she said, wondering why he was telling her this. He must have known it would make his motives more suspicious.

“Pixie dust. As much of it as I’d ever need.”

Emma blanked for a moment, wondering why he’d want pixie dust, then, “Oh…” With pixie dust, he could FLY. “And…?”

“I refused,” Hook said softly. “But I was tempted. I just thought you should know, should Pan bring it up in an attempt to divide us.”

If anyone knew how to push Hook’s buttons, it would be Pan, and she could see him dropping little insinuations that they couldn’t trust Hook. But… was it possible he _could_ betray them, to reclaim something that had been taken from him? Hook was an ally, but not so long ago, they’d been on opposing sides. Would he switch sides again, for something so long denied him?

Emma didn’t want to believe it.

So instead, she watched him struggling to reach the tip of his wing and blurted out, “Can I help?”

Hook froze, and Emma bit her tongue. What if touching his wing was as bad as groping? Had she offended him?

But after a moment, he offered her the oilcloth and angled his wing towards her. “If you’d like,” he murmured.

Tentatively, she reached out, touching the quills, reveling in how strong they felt, yet soft.

It was easier than it looked, smoothing the feathers. They seemed to have little hooks along the barbs, which were eager to join together. Tongue sticking out of her mouth, she concentrated on repairing the largest outer feather with soft touches and smooth strokes.

Beside her, Hook’s breath hitched.

“Emma…”

Focused as she was on coaxing the barbs along the wingtip to link back together, Emma didn’t immediately notice Hook’s reaction to her caress. It wasn’t until she saw several of the smaller feathers along the leading edge of the wing had puffed out like the hackles on a cat that turned towards Hook. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I think you’d better let me finish,” he said in a strained voice. Emma released his feather and he yanked his wing sharply away, pulling it over his lap. Emma blinked. What had she done wrong? Had she hurt him? And then she took in his face, flush visible even in the moonlight, and the shallow, painting breaths.

Oh, hell… Emma scrambled away. Grooming was a _turn-on_. No wonder he was covering his lap - the pirate had raised his mast, so to speak.

“Did you know that was going to happen?” she asked sharply.

He shook his head frantically. “No, Swan, I swear - it’s been centuries since anyone last touched my wings like that…”

Her superpower assured her it was the truth. They stared at each other for a long moment, Hook desperately trying to smooth down the fluffed feathers, then Emma jumped to her feet. “I’ll just…you know what? I’m starving. Are there any of those coconuts around?”

“There are a couple trees that way,” he gestured vaguely with his hook, and Emma took off.

She took her time, knocking free a couple of coconuts using a large stone she’d found. It took patience, and by the time she had two that looked decent, her heart had stopped racing, and the flush had faded from her own cheeks.

Emma wasn’t proud to admit it, but Hook wasn’t the only one who’d been aroused.

A one time thing, she scolded herself.

By the time she returned to the lakeshore, feeling like a mighty hunter with her coconuts, Hook had finished. He was in the process of laying out a complicated leather rig on the sand, shaking out the tangles until he was satisfied.

“What’s that?” she asked, as he lifted the rig and began pulling it over his shoulder.

“It keeps my wings closed. They get a little… excited, as you’ve seen. This way, they don’t open unexpectedly.”

“You BIND them?” Emma breathed. “But…that must be painful.”

“Aye,” Hook said shortly. “But no one sees I am twice damaged.”

True; she hadn’t noticed the wing wasn’t whole.

Seeing her horrified expression, his face softened. “I’m accustomed to it, Love.” He tightened the last strap, then finished dressing. “Shall we head back to camp?”

Emma followed behind, watching as his wings attempted to flex against the confining straps. She understood his reasoning; his damaged wing was a vulnerability, and he wanted to protect that weak point. Emma knew that feeling. She’d built walls around her weaknesses.

Her walls were slowly crumbling, however, as she accepted the love from her family. She wondered if he’d ever feel safe enough, loved enough, to allow himself to be vulnerable and let them free…


End file.
